F 


.H  AS  A  NATURE  LOVER 


LAZEIX 


"llf  IlifllHI  i 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 
RABBI    JOSEPH   JAS  I  N 


<^L.^i-t-^»^ 


ISAIAH  AS  A  NATURE  LOVER 


ISAIAH 

AS  A  NATURE-LOVER 

By  Frederick  John  Lazell 

Published  bj; 

The  Torch  Press 

Cedar  Rapids,  Iowa,  1910 

COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
THE     TORCH      PRESS 


HE    TORCH    PRESS 

CEDAR    RAPIDS 

IOWA 


The  Torch  Series 
Edited  by  Joseph  Fort  Newton 


FOREWORD 

AS  Robertson  Smith  pointed  out,  the 
Bible,  though  a  great  nature-book, 
has  no  such  word  as  "Nature"  in 
its  vocabulary.  It  reflects  the  arch  of 
the  sky  and  the  curve  of  the  earth,  moun- 
tains and  seas,  rising  and  setting  suns, 
birds  and  flowers,  and  the  witchery  of 
moonlight  on  the  desert;  but  it  never 
thinks  of  creation  as  something  apart 
from  the  Creator.  Not  Wordsworth,  but 
Coleridge,  in  his  Hymn  before  Sunrise 
in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni,  comes  nearest, 
among  modern  poets,  to  the  Bible  music ; 
and  among  prose  writers  no  one  has  sur- 
passed the  Ruskin  commentary  on  the 
19th  Psalm,  in  the  concluding  volume  of 
Modern  Painters,  at  the  end  of  the  chap- 
ter entitled  ''The  Angel  of  the  Sea." 
The  essay  to  follow  is  written  by  one 


who  is  not  content  to  read  what  John 
Burroughs  calls  "the  fine  print  of  Na- 
ture," but  who  would  fain  interpret  here 
a  line  and  there  a  verse  of  its  God-illum- 
ined text.  He  sees  that  because  Isaiah 
was  a  poet,  to  whom  the  world  was  a 
song,  he  was  thereby  a  greater  prophet, 
to  whom  the  world  was  a  parable ;  and 
he  has  written  of  the  nature  scenery  in 
those  memorable  prophetic  pages  with 
the  insight  and  enthusiasm  of  one  who 
loves  the  out-of-doors  in  the  Bible,  and 
the  great  Bible  of  the  out-of-doors^ 

J.  F.  N. 


ISAIAH  AS  A  NATURE  LOVER 

IN  the  dream-like  days  that  lie  behind 
the  doors  which  swing  not  back,  the 
choir-boys  in  their  stalls  on  either  side 
of  the  chancel  often  fidgeted  while  the 
white-robed  minister  at  the  lectern,  be- 
tween the  choir  and  the  congregation, 
was  reading  the  lessons  for  the  day. 
Sometimes  there  were  interminable  gen- 
ealogies —  these  were  usually  read  by  the 
curate.  At  other  times  there  were  un- 
conscionably long  sections  from  Leviticus 
or  Deuteronomy.  But  when  the  good 
gray  rector  happened  to  read  a  chapter 
from  Isaiah  as  the  first  lesson,  there  was 
general  stillness;  even  the  score  of  the 
new  and  carefully  rehearsed  anthem  was 
allowed  to  lie  unheeded  on  the  stall.  For 
his  vibrant  voice  reading  Isaiah  sounded 
like  the  tones  of  the  great  organ  in  the 

9 


chancel;  sometimes  majestic,  as  in  "Cos- 
ta 's  March  of  the  Israelites ; ' '  sometimes 
exultant  and  thrilling,  as  in  Handel's 
"Hallelujali  Chorus;"  sometimes  tender 
and  pleading  like  the  "Miserere."  The 
rector  had  in  his  younger  days  been  a 
chaplain  on  a  warship.  When  lie  read 
Isaiah's  "Ocean  Symphony"  you  could 
hear  the  tossing  waves  come  in  and  break 
against  the  rocks.  In  the  pastoral  pas- 
sages the  tones  of  the  good  old  man  were 
full  of  tenderness  and  pleading  pathos; 
it  seems  now  they  were  like  the  tear- 
starting  strains  of  "The  Dead  March  in 
Saul, ' '  that  day  the  old  rector  lay  dead. 

Like  some  sweet  sparkling  stream  the 
love  of  nature  runs  through  all  the  sunlit 
fields  of  song  and  story.  Nowhere  in 
literature,  ancient  or  modern,  is  it  deeper 
or  more  beautiful  than  in  the  literature 
of  the  Old  Testament  —  unless,  indeed,  it 
be  in  the  recorded  sayings  of  the  Supreme 
Prophet  of  the  New.  In  Isaiah  it  is  man- 
ifest the  moment  one  opens  the  book.  It 
shines  out  in  similes;  it  overflows  in  be- 
10 


wildering  series  of  metaphors;  it  is  the 
basis  —  next  to  Isaiah 's  ever-present  feel- 
ing of  the  omnipresence  and  omnipotence 
of  God  —  of  all  that  is  grandest  and  most 
sublime  in  that  wonderful  book. 

Unlike  David  and  Elisha,  Micah  and 
Amos,  and  several  of  the  other  Old  Testa- 
ment writers,  who  sprang  from  the  soil, 
Isaiah  was  a  child  of  the  city,  a  dweller 
at  the  national  capital,  a  prophet  at  the 
court.  Possessing  the  shrewdness  and 
the  sagacity  of  a  statesman,  he  was  a 
privileged  prophet,  a  favorite  and  a  coun- 
selor of  kings.  Born  in  Jerusalem,  he 
seems  to  have  been  schooled  under  the 
kindly  eye  of  the  wise  and  good  Uzziah. 
After  his  lips  had  been  touched  by  the 
mystic  glowing  coal  he  dared  to  halt  the 
chariot  of  Ahaz  and  button-hole  the 
monarch  on  the  king's  highway.  He 
hob-nobbed  with  Hezekiah  and  doctored 
him  with  a  fig-plaster  when  he  was  sick. 
Studying  inductively  his  priceless  legacy 
of  prophetic  literature,  w^e  picture  him  as 
a  statesman  with  the  ability  of  a  Glad- 
stone, a  prophet  with  the  fire  and  fervor 


of  a  Savonarola,  and  a  poet  with  a  vision 
and  mind  of  a  Shakespeare,  environed  by 
kings  and  prelates,  lords  and  ladies,  com- 
prehending in  the  vast  reach  of  his  genius 
all  the  life  and  learning  of  his  times.  His 
mind  was  stored  with  the  sacred  litera- 
ture of  his  people.  He  was  an  orator 
filled  with  fire,  a  poet  whose  soul  was 
steeped  in  sublimity  and  beauty.  He  had 
the  seeing  eye;  nothing  escaped  his 
vision.  No  detail  was  so  small  as  to  pass 
unnoticed,  no  vision  was  so  vast  and 
grand  that  he  could  not  comprehend  it. 
Of  all  the  prophets,  he  excels  in  the 
grandeur  and  sublimity  of  his  imagery. 
He  lifts  us  to  lofty  peaks  of  exaltation 
and  splendor  when  we  read  and  re-read 
his  matchless  words.  Like  Peter  on  the 
Mount  of  the  Transfiguration,  we  fain 
would  stay  forever.  His  service  to  Pales- 
tine was  like  that  of  Goethe  to  Europe : 

He  read  each  wound,  each  weakness  clear, 

And  struck  his  finger  on  the  place 
And  said,  ''Thou  ailest  here,  and  here." 

:   All  facts  were  sheaves  for  the  harvest 

i  12 


of  his  eye.  Beneath  his  accusing  gaze, 
the  sinners  of  both  sexes  must  have 
shrank  like  the  criminals  in  the  presence 
of  Victor  Hugo's  Javert!  How  Ahaz 
must  have  squirmed  in  his  gilded  chariot 
that  day  on  the  Joppa  road,  lest  the  pene- 
trating eye  of  the  prophet  should  detect 
his  secret  determination  to  call  in  the  aid 
of  Assyria  !  How  the  stretched-out  necks 
of  the  daughters  of  Zion  must  have 
drooped  as  the  prophet's  quizzical  glance 
wandered  from  the  gold  ornaments  in 
their  sweet-scented  hair  down  to  the 
gaudy  girdles  around  their  waists  and 
thence  to  their  tethered  ankles  and  tink- 
ling feet.  In  his  splendid  series  of  terse 
word  pictures,  Isaiah  paints  for  us  all  the 
details  of  life  in  the  city.  Crowded  on 
his  canvas  are  not  only  the  lines  of  camels 
and  dromedaries  taking  treasure  from 
the  Holy  City  down  into  Egypt,  and  the 
ranks  on  ranks  of  chariots  and  horses 
moving  swiftly  towards  the  sacred  hill; 
we  see  also  ogling  women  in  luxurious 
raiment,  weak  and  wicked  rulers,  apostate 
priests  in  idolatrous  temples,  the  squalor 
13 


and  misery,  the  splendor  and  the  wealth 
and  the  sin,  which  made  up  the  city  life 
of  that  day. 

But  he  loved  the  out-of-doors.  He  was 
a  poet  as  well  as  a  prophet,  and  he  had 
the  poet's  perception  and  enjoyment  of 
all  that  is  sublime  and  inspiring  in  earth 
and  sea  and  sky.  Living  near  the  glamor 
and  the  glitter  of  the  court,  like  Theocri- 
tus, Chaucer,  and  Shakespeare,  he  loved, 
like  them,  to  taste  the  freshness  and  the 
joy  of  the  open  air.  And  he  gets  the  out- 
of-doors  flavor  into  his  sentences  as  some 
painters  get  it  into  their  pictures.  Some 
prophets  there  have  been,  standing  like 
grim  gray  rocks  on  the  headlands  of  his- 
tory, unsoftened  and  unsweetened  by  na- 
ture's  ministry  of  beauty.  But  Isaiah 
was  not  one  of  these.  He  had  a  first- 
hand knowledge  of  the  fields  and  woods, 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  wild 
creatures  living  in  them,  a  delight  in  the 
beauty  of  growing  grain  and  in  the  ever- 
varying  play  of  sunlight  and  shadow  on 
the  slopes  of  the  wooded  hills.  He 
14 


preached  from  no  pulpit,  but  beneath  the 
open  sky.  He  may  have  studied  the 
sacred  rolls  in  the  seclusion  of  his  home ; 
but  his  greater  study  was  the  book  of 
nature  as  he  saw  it  from  the  hills  and 
valleys  of  Judea.  To  him  this  out-door 
world  was  the  handiwork  of  an  All-pow- 
erful, but  a  most  merciful  and  loving 
Creator. 

So  we  picture  him,  still  studying  in- 
ductively those  marvelous  pen  pictures 
which  show  us  how  keen  was  his  eye,  how 
vast  and  accurate  his  knowledge  of  the 
out-of-doors,  how  specific  and  intimate 
his  acquaintance  with  the  forms  and  the 
habits  x)f  the  fauna  and  the  flora  of  his 
time.  Nature  was  the  harvest  field  of  his 
imagery,  the  vineyard  of  his  inspiration. 

Isaiah  knew  the  physical  as  well  as  the 
political  history  and  geography  of  his 
native  land.  In  his  marvelous  mind  were 
mirrored  the  changing  aspects  of  many  a 
forest-crowned  hill  and  fruitful  plain. 
He  loved  the  mountains,  the  lightning, 
and  the  tempest.  The  grander  aspects 
J5 


of  nature  seemed  to  have  a  special  appeal 
to  him.  He  saw  in  them  the  glory  and 
the  grandeur  of  God.  His  soul  reached 
out  for  the  beauty  of  the  universe;  he 
gathered  up  beauty  as  some  men  gather 
gold.  Scenes  of  pastoral  peace  and  plenty 
filled  him  with  a  quiet  joy.  He  prom- 
ised such  pleasures  as  rewards  for  the 
righteous  remnant  of  his  race,  as  if  he 
knew  that  sweet  serenity  dwells  beneath 
the  trees  and  that  depth  of  life  is  best 
attained  beneath  the  far  and  silent  sky. 
From  flower  and  cloud,  from  stream  and 
star,  from  the  buoyant  light  of  the  morn- 
ing and  the  gentle  death  of  the  day  he 
caught  visions  of  glory  and  messages  of 
promise,  and  sent  them  on  in  winged 
words  from  his  high  Hermon  of  thought 
across  the  hills  and  the  valleys  of  the 
years. 

In  the  country,  as  in  the  city,  nothing 
escapes  his  keen  and  studious  eye.  All 
the  activities  of  the  folk  of  field  and  vine- 
yard, all  the  changing  glory  of  the  pag- 
eant of  the  year  are  pleasing  and  full  of 
16 


meaning  to  those  bright  windows  through 
which  his  mind  looks  out. 

In  terse  sentences,  like  quick,  sugges- 
tive strokes  of  an  artist's  brush,  we  are 
shown  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  that  are 
' '  high  and  lifted  up  "  on  the  lofty  range 
of  Libanus.  Here  and  there  the  cedar 
forests  have  been  cleared,  the  valuable 
timber  hauled  down  to  the  coast  and  raft- 
ed down  to  Joppa  for  use  in  temple  and 
palaces.  In  the  clearings  from  which 
the  loose  bits  of  limestone  have  been  re- 
moved choice  vines  have  been  planted. 
In  successive  terraces  the  vineyards  rise, 
each  with  its  high  tower,  its  huge  wine- 
press, and  its  stone  walls. 

Over  yonder  the  cedars  hang  over  the 
white  limestone  cliffs  and  far  below  are 
the  dancing  blue  waters  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean where  the  merchant  fleet  of  Tarsh- 
ish  with  gilded  prows  and  purple  sails 
make  a  "pleasing  picture"  in  the  bril- 
liant morning  sunlight,  streaming  over 
the  promontory  and  throwing  the  shadow 
of  the  great  rocks  far  out  towards  the 
ships. 

/7 


Or,  the  day  is  far  spent  and  a  storm  is 
rising  with  the  coming  of  the  night.  If 
one  "looks  towards  the  land,  the  light  is 
darkened  in  the  heavens  thereof,"  and 
at  the  base  of  the  cliffs  is  heard  the  mul- 
titudinous roar  of  the  sea.  How  strik- 
ingly the  music  of  the  sea  is  imitated  and 
reproduced  in  that  marvelous  bit  of  tone- 
painting  which  tells  us  that  "the  I'ations 
shall  rush  like  the  rushing  of  mighty 
waters ! ' '  How  clearly  the  roar  and  the 
reverberation  of  the  sea  is  in  that  ocean 
symphony!  It  reads  like  a  stanza  from 
Swinburne  at  his  best.  It  is  delightful 
to  listen  to  Isaiah  when  he  speaks  of  the 
sea. 

One  day  he  stands  near  the  shore  of 
the  Dead  Sea  and  notes  the  black  masses 
of  asphaltum  cast  up  from  the  ancient 
"slime-pits"  beneath  its  waters.  "The 
wicked,"  he  tells  us,  "are  like  the  trou- 
bled sea,  when  it  cannot  rest,  casting  up 
mire  and  dirt." 

In  pleasing  contrast  to  this  is  the  vivid 
beauty  of  the  picture  which  must  have 
18 


been  seen  by  the  prophet  from  the  sandy 
and  stony  shore  where  the  river  Jordan 
enters  the  sea  of  Galilee.  The  peaceful 
river  moves  slowly  down  the  channel  into 
the  lake,  and  its  path  far  into  the  inland 
sea  is  shown  by  the  broad  belt  of  smoother 
water.  Beside  it  and  beyond  it,  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach,  the  white-capped  waves 
of  Gennesareth  are  dancing  in  the  sun- 
light, a  lovely  expanse  of  blue  water  and 
white  foam.  The  memory  of  that  pic- 
ture must  have  been  vivid  in  the  poet's 
mind  when  he  said,  in  that  strain  of  ten- 
der pathos :  ' '  Oh,  that  thou  hadst  heark- 
ened unto  my  commandments !  Then  had 
thy  peace  been  as  a  river  and  thy  right- 
eousness as  the  waves  of  the  sea.  Thy 
seed  also  had  been  as  the  sand  and  thy 
off -spring  as  the  gravel  thereof." 

Supplementing  the  landscape  view  of 
the  terraced  vineyards  on  Lebanon,  there 
are  loving,  detailed  sketches  of  individual 
vineyards.  One  of  these  forms  the  theme 
of  an  exquisite  allegory.  We  see  the 
vineyard  on  the  fruitful  hill.  The  stones 
have  been  carefully  taken  from  the  soil 
/9 


and  piled  in  the  fence  which  faces  the 
vineyard,  collecting  and  retaining  the  soil 
brought  down  from  above  by  the  rains. 
The  vineyard  is  planted  with  the  choicest 
vines;  they  should  grow  clusters  weigh- 
ing ten  or  twelve  pounds  and  grapes  as 
large  as  prunes.  Or  some  of  them  may 
be  the  famous  white  grapes,  the  celebrat- 
ed ' '  vine  of  Sorek. ' '  In  the  midst  of  the 
vineyard  is  the  stone  watch-tower,  fifteen 
or  twenty-five  feet  high,  where  the  keeper 
of  the  vineyard  is  stationed  to  protect  the 
fruit  from  small  boys  and  other  thieves. 
Hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock  is  the  wine- 
press, into  which  the  black  and  red  grapes 
are  thrown  by  the  gatherers.  Their 
hands  and  their  linen  garments  are  dyed 
red  with  the  blood  of  the  grapes.  There 
is  singing  in  the  vineyard  and  shouts  of 
rejoicing  as  the  treaders  tread  out  the 
wine  in  the  press.  Flowing  in  a  crimson 
stream,  the  blood  of  the  grapes  is  caught 
in  huge  stone  vessels  and  carried  away  for 
sale  or  for  storage. 

Would  we  see  the  fields  and  the  farm 
20 


operations  of  Palestine?  In  the  picture 
galleries  of  Isaiah  are  shown  all  the  sea- 
sonal landscapes.  Here  is  a  stubblefield, 
thick  with  the  straw  of  last  year's  crop. 
Now  the  fire  and  smoke  sweep  across  the 
stubble  as  the  farmer  burns  it  to  add  to 
the  fertility  of  the  lands.  Here  is  the 
next  picture  — •  a  farmer  plowing  with  a 
yoke  of  oxen.  They  tire  and  slacken  their 
pace ;  he  urges  them  forward  with  a 
scourge.  Behind  him  are  men  with  hoes 
to  break  the  clods.  When  the  ground 
becomes  level  and  fit  the  farmer  sows  the 
"ketzakh,"  or  rape  seed,  grown  for  its 
oil.  In  the  best  places  he  puts  in  his 
wheat  and  his  barley.  In  still  another 
place  he  casts  the  aromatic  cummin. 
Along  the  edges  of  the  field  he  scatters 
the  spelt.  The  season  advances,  and  in 
June  the  yellow  fields  of  grain,  separat- 
ed by  green  patches  of  herbs  and  dotted 
with  olive  trees  and  umbrageous  oaks, 
make  a  varied  and  lovely  landscape.  The 
harvest  comes  and  the  farmer  and  his 
men  are  in  the  grain  fields  with  their 
reaping  hooks;  they  encompass  the 
21 


standing  grain  with  the  hollow  of  their 
left  arms  and  cut  off  the  bearded  heads. 
They  drink  and  are  refreshed  and  the 
gleaners  drink  with  them. 

We  see  the  grain  on  the  threshing  floor. 
The  rape-seed,  or  fennel-flower,  is  beaten 
out  lightly  with  a  staff.  The  cummin, 
which  is  to  be  used  by  the  cooks  for  con- 
diment, is  threshed  out  with  a  flail.  Now 
bring  on  the  wheat  and  the  barley.  Round 
and  round  go  the  unmuzzled  oxen,  pull- 
ing the  corn-drag  which  jostles  and  beats 
the  plump  kernels  from  the  straw.  When 
the  process  has  been  carried  on  long 
enough  —  not  too  long  lest  the  grain  be 
bruised  —  the  winnowers  come  on.  With 
short  shovels  and  fans  they  toss  the  grain 
in  the  air  to  cleanse  it  from  the  chaff. 
Then  the  horses  and  the  carts  carry  the 
grain  away.  Every  detail  of  this  process 
gives  the  prophet  great  delight.  ''This 
also,"  he  says,  "cometh  forth  from  the 
Lord."  Walt  Whitman  or  John  Millais 
was  not  more  interested  in  the  men  of 
the  field  and  their  work. 

22 


Travelers  tell  us  that  the  downs  of 
Bethlehem  in  early  February,  after  the 
abundant  rains  of  winter  and  early 
spring,  are  one  spangled  carpet  of  bril- 
liant flowers ;  but  before  the  end  of  May 
all  traces  of  verdure  have  disappeared. 
In  the  valley  of  the  Jordan  about  the 
time  of  the  ''latter  rains"  in  March 
there  is  a  deep,  solid  growth  of  clovers 
and  grasses,  all  aglow  with  daisies,  lilies, 
lupins,  and  especially  ablaze  with  scarlet 
flowers  such  as  tulips  and  poppies.  Then 
the  latter  rains  cease,  the  period  of 
drouth  begins,  lasting  from  the  end  of 
March  until  the  ''early  rains"  come  in 
the  autumn.  By  the  middle  of  June  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan  is  baked  brown;  a 
hard,  gaping,  famishing  plain,  where 
there  is  no  green  thing. 

These  annual  scenes  the  Psalmist  had 
in  mind  when  he  said  that  the  ungodly 
should  consume  away  like  "the  splendor 
of  the  meadows ' '  —  not  ' '  the  fat  of 
lambs ' '  as  the  translator  has  rend«,^red  it. 

These  same  scenes  give  Isaiah  the 
thought:  "All  flesh  is  grass  and  the 
23 


goodliness  thereof  as  the  flower  of  the 
field.  The  grass  withereth  and  the  flow- 
er fadeth,  but  the  word  of  our  God  shall 
stand  forever." 

At  the  head  of  the  valley,  where  the 
soil  is  thinner,  the  withering  of  the  grass 
and  the  fading  of  the  flowers  are  first 
apparent.  Farther  dow^n  the  valley  there 
are  still  verdure  and  beauty.  So  Samaria, 
besieged  and  about  to  be  sacked  by  Sar- 
gon, ' '  the  glorious  beauty  which  is  on  the 
head  of  the  fat  valley"  is  likened  to  ''a 
fading  flower"  and  as  "the  hasty  fruit 
before  the  summer;  which  when  he  that 
looketh  upon  it  seeth,  while  it  is  yet  in 
his  hand,  he  eateth  it  up. ' ' 

In  the  great  picture  gallery  of  Isaiah 
the  two  chief  canvasses  face  each  other, 
like  panoramas  contrasted  as  a  study  for 
all  the  generations  to  come.  One  side 
might  be  entitled  ' '  Wickedness,  War,  and 
Famine;"  the  other,  "Righteousness, 
Peace,  and  Plenty. ' '  One  shows  the  land 
overriden  by  its  enemies  and  stricken 
with  a  drouth;  the  other  invites  us  to 
24 


behold  the  nation  at  peace  and  the  cli- 
mate at  its  best. 

In  the  first  huge  panorama  a  procession 
of  camels  and  dromedaries  winds  slowly 
down  towards  Egypt.  At  the  hump  of 
each  of  the  camels  is  a  package  of  treas- 
ure as  an  offering  to  Egypt.  It  is  in 
vain.  Egypt  sitteth  still.  Whirling  in- 
to the  choicest  valleys  of  the  chosen  land 
come  the  war  chariots  of  Assyria.  The 
horses  have  hoofs  like  flints  —  Shakes- 
peare, also,  was  quick  to  note  the  points 
of  a  horse.  None  is  weary;  none  stum- 
bles. The  warriors  lay  waste  the  cities, 
despoil  the  vineyards,  pillage  the  farms, 
drive  off  the  herds.  They  fire  the  forests 
and  the  smoke  of  the  burning  thickets 
rolls  up  towards  the  sky.  Lebanon  is 
filled  with  flame  and  smoke.  Its  might- 
iest trees  are  destroyed. 

Famine  follows.  The  rivers  languish 
and  fail,  sand-bars  and  rocks  make  is- 
lands in  their  beds.  The  anglers  lament 
because  their  pastime  is  no  more,  and  the 
fishermen  with  their  nets  are  dismayed 
because  their  means  of  livelihood  is  taken 
25 


away.  The  fish  die  as  the  waters  are 
dried  up  and  their  decay  pollutes  the  air. 
The  streams  in  the  volcanic  valleys  cease 
to  flow ;  their  bituminous  beds  are  turned 
to  pitch.  The  bits  of  brimstone  lying 
around  the  Dead  Sea  are  changed  by  the 
concentrated  heat  into  a  sulphurous, 
choking  dust.  The  pelican  screams  from 
the  shore,  the  bittern  booms  from  the 
withering  reeds  and  flags  by  Jordan  and 
Gennessareth,  but  there  is  no  human  ear 
to  hear  them. 

Where  proud  palaces  once  stood,  net- 
tles and  briers  grow  amid  the  heaps  of 
ruins.  Here  the  wildest  beasts  have 
their  lairs,  the  ruined  forts  and  towers 
are  their  dens.  So  remote  from  all  hu- 
man intrusion  is  the  place  that  it  is  a 
''joy"  for  the  keen-scented  wild  asses, 
always  quick  to  scent  the  approach  of 
man  and  to  flee  from  him.  The  plaintive 
note  of  the  mourning  dove  is  heard,  as  if 
the  bird  were  sore  distressed.  The  birds 
of  darkness  and  desolation,  the  great  owl, 
the  screech  owl,  the  vulture,  the  raven, 
make  their  nests,  they  lay  their  eggs  and 
26 


hatch  them;  there  is  none  to  disturb 
them,  none  cometh  to  build  up  the  ruined 
cities.  The  fences  of  the  vineyards  are 
broken  down,  the  vines  are  trampled,  the 
vineyard  is  overgrown  with  briars.  Utter 
solitude  prevails  where  once  the  grapes 
were  gathered  amid  shouts  and  song. 

In  the  fields  the  hay  withereth,  the 
grass  faileth,  the  corn  is  blasted  before 
it  is  grown  up,  there  is  no  green  thing. 
Sharon  is  a  wilderness,  Lebanon  is  hewn 
down  and  ashamed.  The  poor  and  needy 
seek  water  and  there  is  none;  their 
tongues  are  parched  and  swollen,  they 
cannot  talk.  The  leaves  wither  and  fall 
from  the  trees,  the  fruits  shrivel  and 
drop  before  their  time  on  the  browned 
and  burning  earth. 

There  is  no  traffic  along  the  highways. 
They  are  choked  with  the  thickets  of 
thorn-trees,  tangles  of  branches,  thistles, 
and  deadly  night-shade.  In  these  tan- 
gles hide  ravenous  beasts.  In  the  mari- 
time plain  the  garden  is  dead  and  deso- 
late; it  is  like  Swinburne's  "ghost  of  a 
garden  which  fronts  the  sea. ' '  From  the 
27 


hot  sand  leaps  the  poisonous  little  viper 
—  the  ' '  fiery  flying  serpent ' '  —  and  the 
yellow-streaked  serpent  is  one  of  the  hor- 
rors of  the  night. 

Turn  to  the  other  great  panoramic  pic- 
ture. How  beautiful  it  is,  at  the  first 
glance!  The  rains  have  fallen,  the 
parched  ground  has  become  a  pool. 
Green  reeds  and  rushes  rise  from  the 
place  where  the  lion  had  his  lair.  They 
bend  and  wave  over  the  sweet  water, 
they  are  thick  and  lush  with  greenness. 
How  refreshing  is  the  cool  green  after 
the  arid  brown!  The  trees  are  decked 
with  new  beauty.  The  planted  ash  is 
nourished  by  the  rain,  the  leaves  of  the 
oak  wave  and  flutter  in  the  breeze,  as  if 
the  trees  were  clapping  their  hands  for 
joy.  In  the  desert  the  box  tree  springs 
up,  the  myrtle  and  the  acacia  are  bloom- 
ing again.  The  verdure  and  the  flowers 
have  come  once  more,  the  desert  rejoices 
and  blossoms  as  the  rose.  Isaiah  thinks 
it  must  be  as  beautiful  as  "Eden"  and 
"The  Garden  of  the  Lord." 
28 


No  one  is  thirsty.  Springs  of  water 
are  flowing  from  the  rocks,  fountains  are 
opened  in  the  midst  of  the  valleys.  The 
gardens  are  re-planted  and  to  them  are 
brought  streams  of  water  from  the  rivers 
and  the  hills.  In  large  pastures  the  cat- 
tle are  feeding  and  in  the  unmolested 
sheepfolds  the  shepherd  is  tenderly  car- 
ing for  his  sheep.  Again  there  is  glory 
on  Lebanon  and  ''excellency"  on  Car- 
mel  and  in  Sharon. 

The  wild  beasts  have  gone,  the  hus- 
bandman is  sowing  beside  all  waters,  and 
sending  forth  thither  the  feet  of  the  oxen. 
When  they  return  from  their  labor  there 
is  clean  and  winnowed  provender  for 
them,  for  plenty  has  returned  to  the 
land.  The  corn  grows  so  fast  and  fine 
that  the  fields  look  like  a  young  forest. 

The  highways  are  restored  and  the  ex- 
iles return  over  them  with  thanksgiving 
and  singing.  The  vineyards  are  replant- 
ed and  the  righteous  remnant  of  Judah 
are  sitting  beneath  the  vines,  feasting  on 
the  fruit  made  plump  by  the  timely  rains 
and  purpled  by  the  kisses  of  the  sun. 

29 


Such  is  the  picture  Isaiah  paints  as  the 
best  incentive  and  the  greatest  reward 
of  righteousness.  Not  gold,  not  splendid 
cities  and  big  armies.  Pastoral  peace 
and  plenty  are  lovingly  portrayed  as  the 
rich  reward  for  the  righteous  remnant  of 
Judah  which  is  to  be  divinely  used  for 
the  ultimate  salvation  of  the  world. 

Little  snapshot  nature  pictures  abound 
in  Isaiah's  imagery.  Here  is  one  of  a 
bunch  of  dogs,  spoiled  dogs,  overfed, 
sleeping  in  the  sun.  One  of  them  partly 
opens  a  drowsy  eye  at  the  stranger.  But 
they  are  all  fat,  gorged,  and  lazy.  They 
are  dumb  dogs ;  they  cannot  bark. 

Here  is  another,  a  picture  of  a  young 
lion  among  the  sheep.  Hastily  called  to 
help  the  owner,  a  multitude  of  shepherds 
are  running  towards  the  lion  with  sticks 
and  stones,  yelling  to  scare  him  away 
from  the  sheep  beneath  his  paw.  Under 
these  circumstances  a  wary  old  lion 
would  hasten  to  get  back  to  his  den.  But 
this  is  a  young  lion,  '^  roaring  on  his 
30 


prey,"  and  he  is  ''not  afraid  of  their 


voice. ' ' 


"We  expect  to  find  pictures  showing 
the  land  of  Judah  in  the  flood  season; 
and  Isaiah  has  them.  Sweeping  down 
the  valley  come  the  waters  of  the  swollen 
Jordan.  The  channel  is  overfilled,  the 
river  overflows  its  banks  and  goes  over 
into  the  valley;  soon  it  is  up  to  a  man's 
neck.  Rushing  swiftly  onward  the  broad 
expanse  of  water  deals  death  and  desola- 
tion. So,  says  the  prophet,  shall  be  the 
coming  of  the  army  of  Assyria. 

The  little  picture  in  xviii,  4,  has  an 
atmosphere  like  a  Corot.  Green  clovers, 
spangled  with  flow^ers,  are  drenched  with 
the  morning  dew ;  as  in  Omar  Khayyam's 
time,  "the  tulip  from  her  morning  cup 
of  heavenly  vintage  from  the  soil  looks 
up."  The  ''clear  heat"  of  the  rising 
sun  makes  mist  of  the  dew  and  veils  the 
distant  landscape  with  purple  loveliness. 

Especially  vivid  is  the  picture  of  the 
olive  tree,  shaken  by  the  owner  of  the 
grove.     It  is  not  a  large  tree;  see,  he 

31 


grasps  the  main  stem  and  shakes  the 
whole  tree  top !  The  olives  rain  down. 
Another  shake  and  all  of  them  are  down 
save  only  two  or  three  ' '  in  the  top  of  the 
uppermost  bough,  four  or  five  in  the  out- 
most fruitful  branches." 

Other  little  nature  pictures  which  hang 
on  the  mental  walls  of  him  who  has  read 
Isaiah  carefully  are  the  lonely  old  booth 
in  the  deserted  vineyard,  and  the  sprawl- 
ing, ramshackle  old  lodge  made  of  olean- 
der branches  in  the  isolated  garden  of  cu- 
cumbers. The  shadow  of  the  great  rock 
in  the  weary  land  is  more  widely  known. 
Full  of  beauty  and  depth  of  meaning,  it 
is  one  of  the  great  word-pictures  of  the 
world. 

Isaiah  must  have  been  a  lover  of  the 
trees,  so  many  are  the  tree  pictures  he 
paints.  Reading  his  reference  to  the  oaks, 
one  feels  that  he  must  have  known  and 
loved  some  handsome,  majestic  old  oak, 
like  that  which  was  pointed  out  to  Phillips 
Brooks  at  Mamre  as  "Abraham's  Oak." 
Perhaps  it  was  while  sitting  beneath  such 
32 


a  tree  that  there  flashed  into  his  mind  that 
beautiful  simile  :  ' '  As  the  days  of  a  tree 
are  the  days  of  my  people. ' '  Every  real 
lover  of  old  trees  has  had  a  similar  feel- 
ing. Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  who  meas- 
ured and  loved  all  the  big  trees  in  his 
neighborhood,  wrote: 
There's  nothing  on  earth  that  keeps  its 

youth 
So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

And  John  Muir,  describing  the  Se- 
quoias of  the  Sierras,  says :  * '  As  far  as 
man  is  concerned  they  are  the  same  yes- 
terday, today  and  forever,  emblems  of 
permanence. ' ' 

Towards  the  close  of  the  drouthy  sum- 
mer we  see  the  oak  with  the  "fading 
leaf"  and  a  little  later  when  the  strong 
winds  bring  the  first  driving  rains  of  the 
autumn  the  leaves  are  falling.  Soon  the 
oak  has  cast  its  leaves  and  is  bare.  We 
note  that  the  winter  is  unusually  severe ; 
for  the  teil  tree  (terebinth),  usually  an 
evergreen,  also  has  cast  its  leaves.  But 
the  promise  of  the  spring  is  in  the  winter 
buds,  strung  along  their  twigs.  "The 
33 


substance  is  in  them,"  says  the  prophet. 
He  is  quick  to  note  the  life  and  strength 
and  beauty  of  the  bare  trees  during  the 
winter  season  and  he  uses  it  as  one  more 
illustration  of  the  comfort  and  hope  for 
the  righteous  "tenth,"  the  remnant  of 
Judah  which  finally  is  to  return  and  be 
blessed.  No  one  but  an  observer  and  a 
lover  of  the  life  out-of-doors  could  have 
so  noted  and  used  this  winter  phase  in 
the  life  of  the  two  trees. 

Isaiah  shows  us  the  sloping  sides  of 
Lebanon  with  its  vineyards  and  olive 
trees,  its  fir  trees  and  its  splendid  old 
cedars.  He  makes  us  feel  the  national 
shame  and  the  sacrilegious  horror  of  it 
all  as  the  chariots  of  Sennacherib  climb 
spirally  up  the  winding  roads  to  the 
height  of  the  mountain,  up  to  the  place 
where  the  very  finest  trees  grow  in  order 
that  he  may  boast  of  having  cut  them. 
The  prophet  seems  to  feel  the  loss  as 
keenly  as  John  Muir  would  if  some  tri- 
umphing Japanese  general  should  cut 
the  Big  Trees  on  the  slope  of  the  Sierras. 
It  is  one  of  the  first  things  he  takes  up 
34 


in  his  famous  message  to  Hezekiah, 
prophesying  the  impending  doom  of  the 
army  of  Sennacherib.  The  invader  had 
boasted  by  his  servants  that  he  had  gone 
into  the  extremest  height  of  Lebanon,  the 
forest  of  his  park,  and  had  there,  with  in- 
solent boasting,  cut  down  "the  height  of 
his  cedars  and  the  beauty  of  his  cypress- 
es. ' '  Dean  Stanley  has  shown  us  that  this 
was  the  very  sanctuary  of  Lebanon,  the 
park  or  garden  of  the  sacred  cedars,  a 
"garden  of  God,"  located  in  a  dip  be- 
tw^een  the  terraces  of  ancient  glaciers 
and  the  snow-clad  hills  behind.  From 
this  sacred  grove  Sennacherib  cut  hun- 
dreds of  patriarchal  cedars,  sending  one 
of  them  home  to  Nineveh  as  a  beam  for 
his  palace  whereon  he  might  inscribe  the 
boastful  record  of  what  he  had  done. 
Other  trees  were  used  for  bridges.  Some 
were  burned.  They  were  left  so  few  that 
a  child  could  count  them.  About  a  dozen 
patriarchal  trees  are  now  standing  in 
that  sacred  grove.  Some  apparently  be- 
lieve that  these  are  the  identical  trees 
which  were  left  by  Sennacherib;  but 
35 


probably  they  are  not  so  old  as  that. 
These  patriarchs  now  are  veiled  by  the 
feathery  branches  of  the  younger  trees 
which  have  sprung  up  during  the  cen- 
turies since  the  ruthless  slaughter  of  the 
trees  by  order  of  Sennacherib. 

Isaiah  regards  Sennacherib's  wanton 
destruction  of  the  sacred  cedars  as  a  di- 
rect insult  to  God  himself.  He  had  pre- 
viously likened  Sennacherib  to  a  great 
despoiler  of  birds'  nests  —  the  great 
bird-nester  of  the  world,  driving  the 
daughters  of  Moab  from  their  homes  to 
the  Fords  of  Arnon,  like  young  birds 
scared  from  their  nests  but  unable  to  fly 
and  shift  for  themselves.  He  now  likens 
him  to  a  bull  who  is  to  have  a  ring  put 
through  his  nose  and  to  be  jerked  around 
and  led  back  the  same  way  that  he  came. 

Everyone  who  has  roamed  the  woods 
and  noted  the  young  saplings  growing  up 
around  the  place  where  a  big  ash  or  a 
linden  had  been  cut  down  will  appre- 
ciate the  force  and  beauty  of  the  figure 
which  is  in  the  first  verse  of  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Isaiah.  All  these  figures  of 
36 


speech  are  so  many  tell-tale  marks  as  to 
where  Isaiah  must  have  spent  much  of 
his  time,  and  how  he  regarded  the  trees 
of  the  forests  and  the  roadsides. 

So,  too,  the  remembrance  of  having 
seen  a  whole  forest  shaken  by  the  wind, 
when  the  smaller  trees  were  whipped 
hither  and  thither  and  even  the  patri- 
archs of  the  forest  were  swaying  in  the 
gale,  springs  instantly  to  the  prophet's 
mind  when  Ahaz  and  his  people  are  pan- 
ic-stricken at  the  coming  of  Rezin  and 
Pekah,  the  "two  tails  of  a  smoking  fire- 
brand." The  king's  heart,  we  are  told, 
and  the  hearts  of  his  people  were  moved, 
' '  as  the  trees  of  the  wood  are  moved  with 
the  wind." 

Being  a  lover  of  the  out-of-doors  Isaiah 
has  much  to  say  about  the  wind.  You 
may  feel  its  freshness  and  its  force  in  his 
words,  see  it  playing  through  many  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  his  passages.  Some- 
times it  is  a  light,  sweet  wind,  merely 
bowing  the  heads  of  the  bulrushes.  Or 
it  is  a  rough,  east  wind,  sweeping  down 
37 


from  the  mountains,  sometimes  a  terriblQ 
blast  that  thunders  and  drives  against 
the  wall.  Such  a  blast  sends  the  water 
of  the  shallow  river  driving  before  it  "  in 
seven  streams,"  and  the  dry  land  ap- 
pears. In  such  a  wind  everyone  seeks 
shelter.  In  a  country  where  "the  whirl- 
winds sweep  up  from  the  south"  a 
shelter  in  the  time  of  a  great  storm  is 
precious;  hence  the  figure  of  The  Man 
who  should  be  a  shelter  from  the  wind. 

If  Walt  Whitman  had  written  a  cate- 
gorical nature  poem,  summarizing  what 
he  saw  in  Isaiah,  might  it  not  have  run 
something  like  this? 

What  do  you  see  in  the  Nature-lore  of 
Isaiah,  Walt  Whitman? 

Take  Isaiah's  hand,  follow  him  up  and 
down  the  land,  what  does  he  shov)  you? 

I  see  a  great  round  wonder  rolling 
through  space. 

I  see  the  moon  and  the  stars,  the  flying 
cloud,  the  light  and  the  shadow,  the  white 
mists  that  lie  thick  in  the  valleys  and  are 
38 


touched  with  ineffable  splendor  by  the 
rising  sun. 

I  see  mountain-peaks,  the  hoary  head 
of  Hermon,  the  promontory  of  Carmel, 
the  twin  ridges  of  Lib  anus  and  anti-Lib - 
anus,  Bashan  and  the  beautiful  oaks. 

I  see  the  storm  and  the  lightning,  the 
earth-quake,  the  mountain  melted  by  vol- 
canic fire  and  its  waters  boiling  and 
steaming. 

I  see  the  springs  gushing  from  the 
rocks,  bubbling  up  in  big  fountains  and 
flowing  away  to  make  rivers. 

1  see  the  stones  of  fair  colors,  the  ag- 
ates, the  carbuncles,  and  the  sapphires. 

I  see  the  oak,  and  the  fir-trees  and  the 
cedars  being  planted  where  the  syca- 
mores were  cut  down. 

I  see  the  acacia  and  the  myrtle  blos- 
soming in  the  desert,  and  near  by  the 
fir  tree  and  the  pine  with  their  dark 
green  needles. 

The  terebinth  tree  and  the  thorn  tree, 
the  cypress  and  the  willows  by  the 
waters. 

I  see  the  box  tree  giving  its  wood  and 

39 


the  oleaster  yielding  its  oil;  the  olive  tree 
and  the  fig  tree  laden  with  their  fruit. 

I  see  the  reeds  and  the  flags,  the  sweet 
cane,  the  rushes  and  the  grass  and  the 
green  and  ripened  corn  maki^ig  a  check- 
ered landscape  beautifid  to  behold. 

I  see  the  superior  fruits  and  the  in- 
ferior ones,  the  red  grapes  ready  for  the 
press,  the  tiny  green  grapes  just  grow- 
ing from  the  floivers,  the  small  wild 
grapes,  the  untimely  figs  and  the  hasty 
fruit  before  the  shimmer. 

I  behold  the  animals  of  the  olden  time. 
I  look  over  into  the  clear-sunn\l  Med- 
iterranean and  see  the  leviathan. 

I  behold  the  unicorn  and  the  satyr  cry- 
ing to  his  fellow. 

I  behold  the  camels  and  the  dromeda- 
ries going  down  into  Egypt  laden  with 
presents,  the  horses  with  them,  and  the 
asses. 

hi  the  wilderness  I  behold  the  lion, 
the  wolf,  the  leopard,  and  the  galloping 
wild  asses. 

I  see  the  serpents  in  the  thickets,  and 
40 


on  the  rochs,  the  viper,  the  adder,  the 
cockatrice  and  the  asp. 

I  see  the  hart  at  the  stream,  the  chased 
roe  swiftly  galloping. 

I  see  the  fish  ponds  and  the  sluices 
and  the  fish  that  are  perishing  in  them  as 
they  dry  up. 

I  see  the  hats  flying  in  the  twilight  at 
evening  and  the  mole  excavating  his 
cave-dtvelling  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
morning. 

I  see  the  swarms  of  flies  and  the  hee- 
master  hissing  to  his  hees. 

I  see  the  yellow  butter,  and  the  thick 
honey. 

I  see  the  worm  and  the  caterpillar,  the 
spider,  the  locust  and  the  grasshoppers, 
feeding  on  the  green  leaves,  the  moth 
and  her  larvce  subsisting  on  the  garment. 

I  see  the  migrating  bird,  the  ravenous 
bird  from  Egypt;  the  raven  and  the 
great  owl,  the  screech  owl  and  the  vul- 
tures, the  crane  and  the  huge  cormorant 
and  the  bittern  by  the  pools. 

I  see  the  smaller  birds  also,  the  dot*e 
with  her  mournful  notes,  the  twittering 
41 


sivallow,  the  flying  doves  at  the  windows. 

Toward  them  all,  small  and  great ^  and 
to  the  great  prophet  who  drew  them  and 
loved  them  and  gave  me  great  lessons 
from  them, 

To  them  and  to  him  I  raise  high  the 
perpendicular  hand,  I  salute  them. 

For  he,  too,  ivas  a  full-grown  poet  who 
took  Nature  and  the  soid  of  man  each 
hy  the  hand  and  showed  each  to  the 
other  that  he  might  unite  them  and  hlend 
them. 

They  tell  us  that  Tennyson  used  to 
prepare  his  similes  with  great  care,  writ- 
ing them  down  in  a  book  and  selecting 
them  as  needed  during  his  creative  writ- 
ing. It  is  probably  only  a  bit  of  ex- 
aggerated literary  gossip,  containing 
the  merest  grain  of  truth,  though  it  may 
explain  such  elaborate  similes  'as  that 
which  describes  the  unhorsing  of  the 
bulky  bandit  in  the  idyll  of  Geraint  and 
Enid.  But  the  most  of  Tennyson's  na- 
ture similes  show  of  themselves  that  they 
sprang  spontaneously  from  the  mind  of 
42 


a  keen  observer,  a  real  nature  lover.  In 
this  respect  they  are  not  unlike  the  sim- 
ilies  and  the  metaphors  of  Isaiah.  It  is  in 
some  of  these  figures  of  the  old  prophet 
that  we  find  the  best  evidence  of  his  keen 
observation  of  the  out-of-doors  and  his 
delight  in  all  its  phases.  Many  of  them 
are  worth  careful  thought: 

For  ye  shall  be  as  an  oak  whose  leaf 
fadeth  and  as  a  garden  that  hath  no 
water. 

And  the  daughter  of  Zion  is  left  as 
a  booth  in  a  vineyard,  as  a  watchman's 
hut  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers. 

They  shall  spring  up  as  among  the 
grass,  as  willows  by  the  water  courses. 

As  the  fire  devoureth  the  stubble 
and  the  flame  consumeth  the  chaff. 

Their  roaring  shall  be  like  a  lion. 

As  a  teil  tree  and  as  an  oak,  whose 
substance  is  in  them  when  they  cast 
their  leaves,  so  the  holy  seed  shall  be 
the  substance  thereof. 

And  his  heart  was  moved,  and  the 
hearts  of  his  people,  as  the  trees  of  the 
wood  are  moved  with  the  wind. 

And  the  earth  shall  be  as  a  chased  roe. 

43 


Strong  cities  shall  be  as  a  forsaken 
bough  and  as  an  uppermost  branch. 

The  king  of  Assyria  likened  at  first 
to  a  swollen  river:  then  to  a  black 
vulture,  spreading  his  huge  wings  over 
the  land. 

The  people  that  walked  in  darkness 
have  seen  a  great  light. 

Wickedness  burneth  as  a  forest  fire. 

The  Lord  shall  lop  the  bough  with 
terror. 

And  there  shall  come  forth  a  rod 
out  of  the  stem  of  Jesse  and  a  branch 
shall  grow  out  of  his  roots. 

As  a  wandering  bird  (young  bird) 
out  of  the  nest,  so  shall  the  daughters 
of  Moab  be  at  the  Fords  of  Arnon. 

For  thou  hast  been  a  shadow  from 
the  heat,  a  refuge  from  the  storm. 

For  thy  dew  is  as  the  dew  of  herbs. 

Whose  glorious  beauty  is  a  fading 
flower. 

Thou  shalt  be  visited  of  the  Lord  of 
hosts  with  thunder  and  with  earth- 
quake and  with  great  noise;  with 
storm  and  tempest  and  the  flame  of  a 
devouring  fire. 

His  breath,  even  as  an  overflowing 
44 


stream,  shall  reach  to  the  midst  of  the 
neck. 

As  birds  flying,  so  will  the  Lord  of 
Hosts  defend  Jerusalem. 

And  a  man  shall  be  as  an  hiding 
place  from  the  wind,  as  a  covert  from 
the  tempest;  as  rivers  of  water  in  a 
dry  place,  as  a  shadow  of  a  great  rock 
in  a  weary  land. 

Your  spoil  shall  be  gathered  like  the 
gathering  of  the  caterpillar;  as  the 
running  to  and  fro  of  locusts  shall  he 
run  upon  them. 

Lo,  thou  trustest  in  the  staff  of  a 
broken  reed. 

They  were  as  the  grass  of  the  field, 
as  the  grass  on  the  housetops. 

My  life  is  removed  from  me  as  a 
shepherd's  tent. 

Like  a  crane  or  a  swallow,  so  did  I 
chatter,  I  did  mourn  as  a  dove. 

All  flesh  is  grass  and  the  goodliness 
thereof  as  the  flower  of  the  field. 

He  shall  feed  his  flock  like  a  shep- 
herd. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  earth  are  as 
grasshoppers. 

They  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  shall 

45 


renew  their  strength ;  they  shall  mount 
up  with  wings  like  eagles. 

I  have  blotted  out  as  a  thick  cloud, 
thy  transgressions. 

Then  had  thy  peace  been  as  a  river, 
thy  righteousness  as  the  waves  of  the 
sea. 

The  moth  shall  eat  them  up. 

He  shall  grow  up  before  him  as  a 
tender  plant. 

All  we,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray. 

For,  as  the  rain  cometh  down  and 
the  snow  from  heaven,  and  returneth 
not  thither  but  watereth  the  earth  and 
maketh  it  bring  forth  fruit  and  bud, 
that  it  may  give  seed  to  the  sower  and 
bread  to  the  eater;  so  shall  my  word 
be  that  goeth  forth  out  of  my  mouth. 

The  wicked  are  like  the  troubled  sea 
when  it  cannot  rest. 

Is  it  to  bow  down  the  head  as  a  bul- 
rush? 

Then  shall  thy  light  break  forth  as 
the  morning. 

The  Lord  shall  satisfy  thy  soul  in 
drought  and  thou  shalt  be  like  a  water- 
ed garden. 

We  roar  all  like  bears  and  mourn 
sore  like  doves. 

46 


Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud 
and  like  doves  to  the  windows  ? 

Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down, 
neither  shall  thy  moon  withdraw  it- 
self. 

For,  as  the  earth  bringeth  forth  her 
bud  and  the  garden  causeth  the  things 
that  are  sown  in  it  to  spring  forth,  so 
the  Lord  God  will  cause  righteousness 
and  peace  to  spring  forth  before  na- 
tions. 

That  led  him  through  the  deep  as  an 
horse  through  a  wilderness. 

As  the  days  of  a  tree  are  the  days 
of  my  people. 

I  will  extend  peace  to  her  like  a  river 
and  the  glory  of  the  gentiles  like  a 
flowing  stream. 

Many  of  these  beautiful  figures  are 
household  words.  They  have  been  se- 
lected for  anthems  and  oratorios  and  for 
the  texts  of  some  of  the  world's  greatest 
sermons.  They  give  joy  to  the  reader 
who  loves  his  bible  and  also  to  him  who 
loves  the  out-of-doors.  The  beauty  and 
depth  of  meaning  in  them  can  scarcely 
be  comprehended  save  by  one  who  knows 
47 


and  loves  the  out-of-doors,  as  Isaiah 
must  have  done. 

Did  you  ever  pause  to  look  across  an 
open  landscape  and  note  the  little  water- 
courses draining  the  fields  and  the  pas- 
tures, with  willows  growing  closely  to- 
gether on  either  shore  of  the  streams? 
Or  did  you  ever  halt  your  boat  some 
summer  evening  by  the  grassy  shore  of 
some  willowed  island  which  was  once  a 
sandbank  in  the  middle  of  the  river? 
It  has  been  reclaimed  by  the  willows  and 
the  foliage  is  so  dense  that  the  redwings 
and  crow  blackbirds  are  stringing  to- 
wards it  from  up  and  down  the  river  and 
settling  down  beneath  the  green  blanket 
for  their  night's  sleep.  Then  you  will 
understand  the  fitness  of  Isaiah 's  figures : 
*  *  Thy  seed  shall  be  as  the  sand  and  thine 
off-spring  shall  spring  up  among  the 
grass,  as  willows  by  the  water-courses." 

Take  your  Isaiah  some  Sunday  morn- 
ing in  August  to  your  favorite  seat  at  the 
base  of  the  old  oak  on  the  breezy  hillside 
where  you  have  a  view  of  three-fourths 
the  circle  of  the  horizon.  From  the 
48 


glossy  green  leaves  at  the  ends  of  the 
twigs,  all  glorified  by  sunlight  and  shad- 
ow and  swaying  gently  in  the  summer 
breeze,  your  gaze  goes  to  the  big  back- 
ground of  blue  sky,  an  ocean  of  blue  sky 
with  here  and  there  an  island  of  soft 
white  cloud.  You  gaze  into  the  azure 
depths,  past  the  floating  ''isles  of  the 
blest,"  past  the  finest  fibres  of  cirrus 
clouds,  onward  and  upward  into  the  vio- 
let blue  heights  and  depths.  Somewhere 
up  there  is  Sirius,  the  dog  star,  blazing 
with  fervent  heat.  Beyond  Sirius  are 
other  worlds,  myriads  of  them  moving  in 
accordance  with  a  mystery  divine,  and 
beyond  them  all,  perhaps,  still  stretches 
the  eternal  sea  of  space,  for  aught  you 
know  unvexed  by  atmospheres,  unlit  by 
suns  and  stars;  it  stretches  on  and  on, 
in  a  cold  and  silent  eternity  until  you 
can  no  longer  touch  it  with  your  tensest 
thought.  Then  your  mind  comes  back 
through  the  worlds  of  light  and  loveli- 
ness, the  motions  of  the  planets  and  the 
mystery  of  moving  leaves  and  you  open 
Chapter  xl  and  read:  "It  is  He  that 
49 


sitteth  upon  the  circle  of  the  earth  and 
the  inhabitants  thereof  are  as  grasshop- 
pers: that  stretcheth  out  the  heavens  as 
a  curtain  and  spreadeth  them  out  as  a 
tent  to  dwell  in. ' ' 

Never  mind  if  the  higher  critics  tell 
us  that  Isaiah  did  not  write  Chapter  XL. 
The  higher  critics  have  also  told  us  that 
Shakespeare  didn't  write  the  song  in 
Cjmibeline;  but  we  shall  continue  to 
think  of  the  poet 's  words  at  the  grave  of 
a  good  man:  ** Nothing  ill  come  near 
thee.  Quiet  consummation  have,  and  re- 
nowned be  thy  grave,"  and  to  think  that 
Shakespeare  wrote  them.  If  Shake- 
speare didn't  write  that  there  must  have 
been  two  Shakespeares.  At  least  we  shall 
think  so  until  the  higher  critics  prove 
that  Shakespeare  really  didn't  write  any- 
thing worth  while,  but  that  Bacon  wrote 
it  all.  And  if  Isaiah  didn't  write  the 
chapters  which  the  higher  critics  are 
now  trying  to  take  from  him,  then  there 
must  have  been  two  Isaiahs,  both  of 
them  gathering  up  the  beauty  of  the  out- 
of-doors  as  it  existed  in  the  Judea  of 
50 


their  day  and  treasuring  it  up  for  us  in 
simile,  metaphor  and  prophecy,  making 
all  the  generations  to  come  their  ever- 
lasting debtors. 

There  remains  to  be  considered  the 
grandest  and  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
Isaiah 's  nature  passages ;  those  which  set 
forth  the  majesty  and  the  omnipotence 
of  God  and  those  which  dwell  upon  His 
mercy  and  goodness.  The  former,  for 
the  most  part,  are  drawn  from  Nature's 
greatest  and  grandest  spectacles:  the 
storm  and  the  tempest,  the  forest  con- 
sumed in  the  circling  flames,  the  banner 
raised  aloft  on  the  mountain-tops  for  all 
the  world  to  behold,  the  bee-master  hiss- 
ing unto  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, 
the  wonderful  series  of  sublime  meta- 
phors in  XXX,  27-33,  the  last  three 
verses  of  Chapter  II  and  the  first  three 
of  Lxiv.  It  would  be  easy  to  multiply 
examples.  In  every  sublime  spectacle  of 
nature  Isaiah  beholds  the  majesty  and 
the  power  of  God. 

And  the  loving-kindness,  the  goodness 
51 


and  the  tenderness  of  God  are  shown  in 
a  series  of  pastoral  pictures,  so  vivid  and 
so  full  of  serenity  and  peace  that  we  de- 
light to  read  them  over  and  over  again. 
For  examples,  take  the  second  and  the 
sixth  verse  of  Chapter  iv,  a  large  part  of 
Chapter  xi;  xxx,  23-26;  xxii,  15-20; 
XXXIII,   21;   xxxv,   6-10;   nearly   all   of 

XL;    XLI,    17-20;    XLIII,    20;    XLIV,    3,    4; 

xLix,  10 ;  LI,  3 ;  Lii,  7 ;  nearly  all  of  lv  ; 
Lx,  19-21 ;  Lxv,  9,  10,  21-25 ;  Lvi,  12. 

Isaiah  was  a  monotheist  in  an  age  and 
a  world  of  polytheists.  To  his  clear  vis- 
ion the  philosophy  of  the  natural  world 
was  plain.  To  him  every  aspect  of  the 
day  and  the  night,  each  spectacle  of  storm, 
each  loveliness  of  sunshine,  was  a  mani- 
festation of  Divine  Majesty,  forbearance, 
forgiveness,  and  love.  He  had  learned  the 
highest  lessons  nature  has  to  teach.  He 
might  have  said  with  Linnaeus,  watch- 
ing the  unfolding  of  a  flower,  "I  saw 
God  in  His  glory  passing  near  me  and 
bowed  my  head  in  worship." 


52 


In  the  same  Series 

Edited  by  J.  F.  Newton 

Abraham  Lincoln — An  Essay 

By  Joseph  Fort  Newton 
Old  London  Town  and  Other  Travel  Sketches 

By  Henry  Watterson 
A  Golden  Book  and  The  Literature  of  Childhood 

By  William  Marion  Reedy 
Henry  Thoreau  and  Other  Children  of  the  Open 
Air 

By  Theodore  Watts-Dunton 

(others  to  follow) 


The  Torch  Series 

Gems  of  the  purest  literature  of  our  day  carefully 
chosen,  edited  and  printed;  each  60  cents  net 

(Postage  .06) 


131 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  D^ 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIUTY 


B    000  011  068    4 


J 


